


Guinea pig

by Dominatrix



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Sherlock and John discover fanfictions, Smut, it's for an experiment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-11-18
Packaged: 2018-01-21 03:21:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1535732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dominatrix/pseuds/Dominatrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts as an experiment.<br/>But it doesn't stay that way for long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A new low point?

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Hell-bent](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1135488) by [Dominatrix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dominatrix/pseuds/Dominatrix). 
  * A translation of [Versuchskaninchen](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/47258) by Elizabeth Adler. 



> Swiggity swack, this is utter crack.  
> Seriously.
> 
> (And don't worry, it will get smutty. Like, really.)

„John, I have got an idea.“

John Watson had learned to react to this exclamation with a racing heartbeat, damp palms und undisclosed panic in his eyes. It couldn't mean anything good when Sherlock said this sentence. Mostly it was the proposal to do something that was morally dubious, and from time to time even something that moved on the verge of being illegal.

So the gaze John shot his flatmate across the edge of his laptop was really careful and sceptical. For Sherlock it seemed to be enough of a reaction to continue speaking.

„You surely remember our talk about these...fanfictions.“

John just snorted. This incidence had happend a few weeks ago, but it still didn't give him rest. The first few days after him and Sherlock had tried not to get in each other's way as good as possible – it had proven to be difficult, regarding the fact that they worked and lived together. But after that both of them started to relax a bit, and the awkward silence between them faded. Had John known which thought had occupied Sherlock's brain, however, he would have surely wished to have the silence back.

„It doesn't give me any rest, John. You are aware that I am a man of science. A researcher, if you want to put it that way, and the nature...“

"For God's sake, Sherlock, just get on with it“ John interrupted him. He wanted to leave this topic behind him as fast as possible.

„The only way to make peace with this matter is to check it. An experiment with living objects.“

„Sherlock, you can't possibly be serious“ John started carefully, but buried his face in his hands with a moan when Sherlock produced something that resembled a check list in a dreadful kind of perfection.

„God, you _are_ serious. Why?“

„As I said. I'm a scientist. It is my – our – job, to know and to deduce things.“

John couldn't believe that this talk was really happening right now. But maybe it didn't. Maybe he fell out of his bed at night and suffered from a concussion. Maybe he was in a coma or had a really irritating dream. Everything was more pleasant than the imagination that this was reality.

He sighed when he met Sherlock's enthusiastic and impatient gaze.

„You won't leave me alone with it, will you?“

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders. „Do you remember the business with the thumbs in the fridge?“

John didn't say anything. He knew he had no chance. Everything he could do was to cut his losses.

He knew that once Sherlock had put something in his head he didn't let it go again. John had tried it several times. And regretted it every single one of them. The thumbs in the fridge were just the tip of the iceberg. He thought about nocturnal trips to the DIY store just to prove that the victim from Cluedo had slain himself with a heating pipe.

Moments like these had taught John one thing: In these situations, it was always more intelligent to give in. No matter how absurd and crackbrained the consequences were. 

Sherlock had reached a new low point with this suggestion, but John was not naive enough anymore to believe that he would simply put it to rest.

„Good. For all I care. But don't think that I do it gladly.“

 


	2. May I?

It became clear that Sherlock obviously had made up his mind about the course of events during their experiment quite thoroughly. Reacting to John's question when he would like to perform the experiment he just looked at him, uncomprehending, and said: „I didn't know we had something planned for today.“

John's argument that he would need some time for preparations was being whisked away with a single impatient move of his hand.

„There was no time for preparation in the story. It was spontaneous. You read it yourself.“

John couldn't do anything than concede a point to him, at least partly, although it made him really uncomfortable.

At least Sherlock permitted him to disappear to the bathroom shortly, to comb his hair and put on some fresh deodorant. It would probably not do anything, because the sole thought of what was most definitely about to come made him break out into cold sweat.  
Sherlock seemed to be as cool as a cucumber, just as self-confident and big-headed as always. He shooed John into his bedroom so he changed his clothes, while he closed the door to his own room behind him.

When the two men met again in the living room, fifteen minutes later, they looked at each other – a bit skeptical. 

Both had followed the instructions of the story to the last hair. John wore an off-white jumper and dark, slightly washed-out jeans.

He felt definitely out of place next to Sherlock in his dark purple shirt underneath a steel-grey, slim-cut suit. It seemed almost impossible to turn the gaze away from this appearance; too fascinating and extraordinary was the strong contrast between marble-like, almost white skin, black hair and piercing light eyes.

Sherlock, however, just gave John a quick glance before he checked something on the sheet of paper he held in his long, slender hands. „Clothes are done.“ He cleared his throat and looked at John from the corners of his eyes, as if he himself was a bit insecure. John was as calm as a bee hive with a collective flower pollen allergy.

„You...You know which story it is about.“ Oh yes, John knew that only too well. Sherlock had put a copy in his hands, covered in markings and notes on the edges, with the urgent order to recall everything to guarantee a smooth course of action. So Sherlock just got a silent nod for an answer, which was not necessarily directed towards him, but rather towards the curtains diagonally behind him.

„Good, then...“ Sherlock pointed to the closed door with an inviting move of his hand.

„If you don't mind. It starts like this, if I remind correctly.“ John decided, not to say anything or to react at all anymore. Probably he would just become hysterical.  
So he stepped over to the door of the flat, locked it just for good measure – because after the incident with the fire Mrs. Hudson had really seen enough what could bring her to false conclusions – and leaned against it, his back completely flat against the wood. He avoided Sherlock's gaze on full purpose when he approached him until they were only three feet apart.

„Do you want me to count down from ten?“

John snorted, but still couldn't look his flatmate in the eye. It just wasn't possible.

„Sherlock, what are you talking about? This is not a rocket launch.“

„I just thought you would like to prepare for me kissing you.“

For a moment everything around John went black. In what kind of trouble had he gotten in? In what kind of a world did he live that Sherlock Holmes said these words to him? Once again he recalled that it would be the best just to close his eyes and think about England instead of risking a discussion with Sherlock.

„I think I can't possibly prepare for what is about to come. Let's just get it over with.“

 


	3. And now, John?

John had thought that Sherlock would give him a heads-up anyway, that he would explain to him what he was about to do.

That the Consulting Detective would just shrug his shoulders indifferently before taking John's face between both hands and kissing him right on the mouth...He really didn't see that coming.

So the surprised sound that escaped his throat was in complete accord with the script, but not acted at all, just as little as the feeling that the world stood still for a short moment to give John a bit of time to process the feeling of Sherlock's lips on his. He forced himself to think. _And now, John?_

He knew that he could only get out of this situation with all of his sanity if he concentrated now, if he saw it all matter-of-factly. Sherlock would push him closer against the door, whereupon John would let his hands slide under his jacket. Afterwards the kiss would become deeper, and then...Oh, this _bastard._

Obviously Sherlock was better or just faster in processing, and he already pushed himself against John's body in a very convincing manner, so they were touching all the way from chest to thigh. Sherlock had brought one knee between John's legs, and John couldn't remember anymore if this was part of the story or rather Sherlock’s artistic licence.

However, it was almost impossible to think clearly anyway, when he permanently felt how a slim, elegant body pressed against his own, as if he planned to push him right through the door.

What Sherlock did with his lips right now...He didn't even want to think about that.

After a few seconds, which had been really awkward and embarassing because their lips had just been on top of each other, in complete shellshock, Sherlock seemed to have discovered and re-activated some covert knowledge in his mindpalace. John was sure that he was know officially crazy, and he would never admit it, especially not in front of Sherlock, but he should be damned if this wasn't the best fucking kiss he had gotten in _years_.

He wasn't sure if it was about Sherlock's deductions about him and he just knew exactly which buttons to push to make John's blood boil, or if the man in front of him, who always seemed so cold and distant, was just really, _really_ good in what he did...But soon enough John almost forgot that there was a story.

While he ran his hands under Sherlock’s jacket with light pressure, just pulling the Consulting Detective closer, which was responded by with a low growl – yes, it was really a growl which made his chest cage vibrate and his blood rush even faster – he felt how Sherlock’s tongue carefully ran across his lower lip.

 _Damn._ He couldn't help but shiver as he opened is mouth a bit to allow him entrance.

Shortly after Sherlock had taken John's lower lip between his teeth tenderly, and John knew that he only did it to provoke him. Which he managed scarily well.  
The blood pulsed crazily through his body, and he was sure, that Sherlock could feel his racing heartbeat just fine.

Carefully and even a bit unwillingly – yes, he was definitely crazy, that was for sure – he eased back a bit from the man in front of him, who looked at him with a frowned forehead but didn't take his hands off John's hips. His index fingers were still hooked into the belt hoops of his jeans.

„What?“

„I'm...not gay“ John broke out, panting, before he licked his lips nervously and forced himself not to stare at Sherlock’s mouth. It was physically straining to look anywhere else.

"That's far later in the text, John“ Sherlock mumbled.

He sounded a bt breathless, too, and his chest rose and fell repidly. John felt every single breath as if it was his own because Sherlock was so close.

„I know. I just thought that...To clear the facts.“

„Of course“ Sherlock replied sneeringly before he bowed down to John again and kissed his neck.


	4. Ready?

By now the military doctor was almost indifferent towards the fact that this situation was absolutely ridiculous. He still had one arm slung around Sherlock's waist while his other hand was buried in the dark curls on his head. His breath had turned hasty and shallow, and he knew that he was short of having a hiccup – a fact which Sherlock would have surely scowled at because it didn't meet the requirements.

They had only just deepened the kiss – eventhough John wouldn't have thought that this was still possible – when Sherlock took a step back and turned around suddenly.

„What the...“ John wheezed as he watched Sherlock calmly picking up his list and ticking another thing off.

„The scene at the door is done, John. There was nothing left to do for us.“

His cheeks were tinged a faint shade of pink, his voice sounded a little raw, and his hair looked more tousled than it usually did, but other than that nobody could have guessed that Sherlock Holmes had just kissed his flatmate – rather passionately, one might add.

„See, in the text it says“ he cleared his throat, „ _John's heartbeat raced as if he drove 150 miles per hour_ – a curious metaphor if you ask me, and your pulse has just reached the frequence which would follow up to such a release of adrenaline.“

„Fair enough“ John replied, still fighting for breath. He wondered when Sherlock had taken his pulse. How could he have missed that? „Of course.“ Sherlock nodded shortly and looked down on his clipboard – yes, he really had a clipboard – with a thoughtful expression on his face.

John was sure that he would punch Sherlock into unconsciousness if he wouldn't take his pen out of his mouth right now. He had shoved it between his plush lips while he studied the list with a small frown. It planted images in John's mind which were a bit fishy to him. And his body responded to these images in a way which was slightly...unsettling.

„To the kitchen, then“ Sherlock mumbled past his pen before he finally, finally released it and pinned it back to the board, shooting John a challenging glance. „Ready?“

It was not fair. No man on earth should look so wicked and almost irresistable when he simply walked into another room. Especially not if it was Sherlock Holmes who didn't even use this skill – or did it count as a gift already? Well, he hadn't used it apart from now.

John was almost completely sure that this bastard knew exactly what he was doing. What he was doing to John. But he hoped that Sherlock wasn't able to see through everything what he thought right now. Else their living together could become slightly awkward in the future.

With slightly hunched shoulders, John followed Sherlock, who swung his damned clipboard like a walking stick, and entered the kitchen. As always, the room looked completly chaotic, and especially it didn't look like it was suitable for eating, preparing or just storing food.

However, John recognised a pattern in the chaos. The test tubes weren't put into order by their dominating main group; this time it was colour instead. In real lif, Sherlock wouldn't approve this at all. He sorted John's ties by colour – a habit which John hadn't yet succeeded in making him stop – but for his experiments this seemed rather random and especially unscientific.

„Sherlock?“ John asked faintly. „What's in these test tubes?“

The brunet just shrugged. „I didn't have enough iformation. So I filled them with the most hazard-free I happened to have at hand which matched the colour scheme.“

„Define hazard-free“ John demanded. He had good reason to do so.

Sherlock could say hazard-free and mean illegal and suicidal. All this with the innocent expression of a bored angel. John had stopped believing this face many months ago.

Because of that it was a bit easier to hold his body and especially his thoughts under control when Sherlock approached him again, his eyes dark and deep.


End file.
